The Last Time: Ibidem
by GenRemy
Summary: She's been on the run for years. The people after her are powerful and plentiful but she has a dark secret that may give them a run for their money. When she's forced out of hiding and thrust into a sinister plot, she'll need help from a few famous hunters, but they'll need her even more. *Meant to be a season arc. TFW X Original Character, Romance.
1. Inception

Chapter 1

Let the record state that she was very good at minding her own damn business.

The world just had other plans.

Polly shuffled into her cramped, musty motel room, locking the door behind her as she shrugged off her worn, black leather jacket, and tossed it on the extra bed in the room. She frowned at the sight of it against the dingy green sheets and flopped down on her bed to struggle her way out of the black boots she wore every day. Those, the jacket and a pair of leather pants –black, of course—completed her ensemble.

Was it always comfortable? No. But was it worth it for the way her ass looked in the pants? Hell yes.

It was the one way she was able to stand out. The single way she allowed herself to stand out amongst the masses and draw attention. If the people eyeing her only knew that the tight clothes were the least remarkable things about her…

She laid back, staring at the stains on the ceiling with open disgust. She was so excited that tomorrow marked the end of her two weeks in High Point, North Carolina. It was actually a beautiful city, tons of gorgeous architecture, but every place has its dingy back roads and High Point's just happened to come with one of the most disgusting motels she had ever seen.

It was a rare occasion that she didn't feel put out by the necessity to switch motels every few weeks to avoid anyone getting too close to her.

Realistically, she probably could have stopped running a long time ago, in fact, she surely could have but she never felt safe and there was always a chance some _thing_ would recognize her.

One of _his_ men.

For most people, all that was left as evidence of her existence were whispers and gossip.

There were only a few who knew there was a chance she was still alive. The ones who were brainwashed into believing she was some fearsome monster that needed to be searched for and exterminated on sight.

That knowledge kept her looking over her shoulder everywhere she went and jumping from state to state, shitty motel to shitty motel constantly.

If we're being honest, running was the thing simultaneously unnerving and keeping her sane. The routine of things. Sure, she always fantasized about what she could be doing with her free time — when she didn't feel so burdened by the possibility of needing to pull out the weapons she always kept tucked inside her jacket but she also knew that she had much too much free time and that what they don't tell you about freedom and possibility is that it's best in small doses.

She got up, walking the two paces it took to get to the tiny bathroom and flicked on the light. _Damn_ , she thought, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a messy pile atop her head, wayward strands sticking out here and there. She pulled the hair tie out and thick, dark waves fell down around her shoulders, framing the lines of her deep, olive toned face. Her brown eyes were wide and she leaned close to wipe away the smudged eyeliner.

She blinked once and suddenly her eyes were two black pits.

Empty masses of absolute nothing like someone'd slid a film over them to keep out the light.

She blinked again and the color came back like it'd been there all along. Chocolate and normal and _human_.

Her favorite party trick.

Versatility is what she'd call it. An abomination is what much of the civilized world would.

The Holy, the fearful, the pain in the ass hunters.

She hasn't killed anyone in 1,264 days, cross her heart and hope to die and even then it was a group of hunters who had it coming. It was a life or death situation and someone had to get the latter. 5 against 1 when the 1 is her? It just isn't a fair fight.

And considering that every death in self-defense meant she got to live another day with the important people having no reason other than paranoia to believe she was alive, it seemed like a pretty good trade to her.

Hell, with the angels falling from Heaven, the constant apocalyptic panic and Death 1.0 himself dying, it was hard to prioritize much over survival.

Big things were happening in the world.

The Winchesters.

She always smiled at the thought of them. In all honesty, she was a fan. She'd only heard whispers. Two boys and their angel, screwing up the balance between good and evil by daring to be a little bit of both.

On the rare occasions she'd speak to a demon – clueless to who she was, of course – and ask about the happenings of the demonic and angelic world, all she'd hear about was how the Winchesters had done this and caused that and fixed this and killed that. How they were a thing of nightmares.

The way demons talked about the Winchesters, you'd swear they were a little bit in love. But then, demons never knew what was good for them.

The bathroom light was clicked off and the TV turned on as she searched the tiny fridge in the corner for food. She didn't need to eat, sure, but pizza was something even the most powerful beings had to appreciate.

"We're expecting about six inches of rain tomorrow but it should clear up by the 4 o'clock hour and now over to Dan in the studio," the weatherman finished. The news channel was the only one the TV got.

"Ughhh," she moaned, rolling her eyes as she popped the last few slices of pizza into the microwave and grabbed a bottle of water from the grocery bag she'd just brought in, downing it. _Perfect, I have to leave in rain._

There was no way she was going to stay another day in High Point. The microwave popped, a few sparks flying at her as if it agreed.

She already had her bag packed. A single backpack with the necessities. Bullets, clothes and everything needed to make a quick getaway if need be.

"And now, this just in," the news anchor started as she settled into bed, her back pressed against the cracked wooden headboard. She picked up a slice and stuffed half of it in her mouth, humming when the taste hit her tongue. "We are receiving reports that there has been an attempted robbery at the Donsherie Museum in Marrakesh. A scepter, which historians date back to before the 12th century was the alleged target of the break-in at around 9 p.m. this evening, that's 2 a.m. their time. We're showing a picture here, I believe."

And on the screen flashed the scepter. Polly froze as she saw it, her food forgotten. It was thin, gold and intricate. Clearly expensive without looking flashy.

Exactly how she remembered it.

"The artifact was well protected, authorities say, which is what kept the thieves from obtaining the item, scaring them off just as security arrived. No leads yet on the perpetrators who have not yet been found."

Polly's mind was racing with all of the possiblys and maybes that could be behind who was after the scepter and why and what it meant that someone had tracked down its location finally.

People had been searching for years, decades, _centuries,_ ever since it disappeared but no one had been able to find it.

Polly, herself, never tried looking. It would have drawn too much attention to her, not to mention she had no lead on its whereabouts. She didn't know anymore than anyone else who was looking for it.

Except now she knew where it was. And she could get it. Easily.

She didn't know what kind of amateurs had tried to go in and get it but they were most likely kept off by the wards that were no doubt surrounding it. Polly knew that all she needed to do was get close and she wouldn't even have to take it.

It would come to her.

Let the record state that she was very good at minding her own damn business.

She'd had a room booked at a place in Monson, Massachusetts all ready to go and was prepared to spend another two weeks in a crappy motel eating old pizza.

She was set to spend the rest of forever running, hiding, doing what she needed to do to get by and survive.

But now she couldn't.

If someone was after the scepter, it was because they knew what it was capable of and were intent on using it. She'd paid no attention to it for years, comforted by the belief that no one would ever find it but now it was clear that inaction wasn't an option anymore.

She had to get it before they did.

She had to come out of hiding.

 **A/N: I'm super excited to share this story with you all. I've had this character in my head for over a year and she's finally out in the world! I'll likely be double posting today so we can meet our boys next chapter. Thanks for reading! -Gen**


	2. Commencement

Chapter 2

"So, get this," Sam started. He was sat in front of a computer screen, the page opened to a news site with papers surrounding him on the large oak table that sat in the middle of The Bunker's library. It was just one room in an intricate, hidden, underground compound that he called home. He'd been up for hours, engrossed in a lead he found on a case.

His brother, Dean, walked in, sat down on the table's corner next to him, coffee mug in hand, and waited for him to continue.

"Someone broke into a museum in Marrakesh last week and tried to steal a scepter," Sam finished, turning to look up at his brother. His cropped brown hair moved with him and he pushed it from his face swiftly.

"A scepter?" Dean repeated as if he hadn't heard right. His brows furrowed, face wrinkling in confusion. "Like those little sticks kings carry?"

"Yes, Dean." Sam turned back to the screen to read. "It says they were scared off by the security and the 'extensive protection system which kept them from advancing on the item.'"

"Okay, and why do we care?" Dean asked, starting to move away. Sam caught his brother by the sleeve of his crimson red, plaid shirt and stopped him.

"Look at this." Sam clicked from the site to pull up another page, this one a grainy video, clearly footage from a security camera Sam had hacked into. Dean leaned over his brother's shoulder and watched as two men walked, not ran, _walked_ into the wide-open museum room like they had all the time in the world.

It was a circular space, glass cases lining the walls and filled with bits of old statues and fossils, each one ancient and valuable. But the men were only interested in the case that was dead center in the room. The camera was perched high overhead, so the scepter was nothing more than a bright glare on the screen, but even far away you could tell it was incredibly important. That was obvious by the steel walls surrounding it on each side, short enough to allow a view of the scepter but tall enough to make climbing over a difficult task.

The men looked like they'd walked in straight off the street. As if they were on a stroll and decided on a whim to pop in for a bit of light burglary. They were in jeans and tees and both looked no older than 30.

Sam and Dean watched them walk right up to the case and then climb over the steel barricade one by one. The one in front, a tall blond, drove his hand straight through the glass and grabbed the scepter. Then froze.

"What the-" Dean started, surprised, and a little disgusted, by what he was watching. The man's head curled back like skin peeling off an apple. He turned in on himself and kept going; spine cracking, legs crumbling, body completely dissolving until he was nothing but a pile of clothes and wet red and pink liquid.

His buddy watched the entire thing, not moving. The scepter hit the floor. The man turned to leave but his legs stayed firmly put, like his shoes had been glued to the spot. No less than ten security men suddenly appeared, running at the man. The security who got there first raised his hand high, as if relishing the moment, and for a second only, you could see the shimmer of the weapon he then promptly stabbed through the intruder's chest.

The thief's body lit up, as if he was being illuminated from the inside out; he threw his head back, a silent scream falling from his lips and then he collapsed next to his friend on the floor.

"Oh, yea, we definitely care," Dean remarked as Sam stopped the video. "Demons. Must have been warded and hexed. What the hell do they want with a _scepter_?"

"There's more," Sam said, holding up a finger and pulling up the news site again. "I found a picture of the scepter. It was hard. They don't allow photography in the museum and it's not listed anywhere on the museum's website. Now, _this_ ," he said, pointing to the screen, "is the picture the news sites are running." It was the same image Polly had seen. A simple looking gold staff with tiny silver detailing here and there and a few purple stones all over.

"It's ugly," Dean commented.

Sam kept going. "And this is the picture I found on Craigslist when I did a reverse image search. The ad's from 2006, looks like they've been looking for it for a while." He pulled up yet another tab beside the previous.

"Craigslist, _really_ , demons? What's the differen-" Dean stopped short as Sam zoomed in on the picture until it was large enough to see the symbols etched into the scepter. Sharp zigs and harsh zags, all coming together to make dangerous looking shapes that wrapped around the body. A single, large mark sat in the middle of it all, stretched to fit the length.

What looked to be an incomplete diamond, half open on the left side, a stark-straight line where the fourth side should be and a slash across the right edge of it all.

The boys had been in this 'business' for years, their entire lives, and yet neither Dean nor Sam could recognize any of the symbols. They weren't part of any sigil, warding, or incantation they had ever seen before.

"I don't really like learning new stuff this far into things, Sam," Dean said, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he were suddenly exhausted.

"I'm not even finished," Sam said. Dean sat down again. "I was searching for these symbols. They weren't in any of the books," he motioned to the array of papers and texts around him. "But then I saw this," he pointed to a newspaper next to him, finger jabbing the paper as he spoke. "Monson, Massachusetts. Four men were found dead in a parking lot outside of a diner yesterday. The report says," Sam paused to grab the paper and read. "The police said it looked like someone had 'fried them from the inside out'. Says their eyes were burned out, their clothes singed and their bodies 'crisp, as if they'd been electrocuted'."

Dean made a face. "And look," Sam said, "at the mark left behind." Dean grabbed the proffered paper from his brother and squinted at the small black and white image. Four bodies covered in sheets lay on the wet, rough ground of a parking lot and in the center of them was a large version of the broken shape from the scepter, singed into the pavement.

"I'll be damned. Looks like we're going to Massachusetts."

"Looks like we're going to Massachusetts. Let's call Cas." Sam agreed, closing his laptop.

Dean tossed the paper aside, paused. "Did you see that guy turn into a human smoothie?"

 **A/N: Oh, Dean…We met our boys! Any guesses as to what the hell is going on yet? A bit of casual thievery next chap! Thanks for reading.**


	3. Reception

She shouldn't have gone back for the damn pie.

She'd been doing pretty well so far. She would never admit it, but she was surprised at how easily things had been going.

The very next day after seeing the news report, she'd headed to Marrakesh. It didn't take long to get there but it was quite annoying having to fly the entire way. The Donsherie Museum was on the edge of Marrakesh, tucked away between a few architecturally stunning towers. It was a large building and ridiculously dull looking considering the bright, intricate sights that it was surrounded by. Nothing but beige, a few white pillars and some blue banners here and there.

The inside was much the same. Off-white walls and a tall ceiling. Marble busts and old paintings were along all the walls, all by artists who she, and probably most of the world, had never even heard of. She went through room after room of these bland pieces of art, a few dozen people in each area until she found what she was looking for.

In the center of the room. _As it should be,_ she thought, and she was surprised at the soft feeling she felt in her chest when she saw the item. A sharp burn accompanied the softness and she immediately straightened up and fixed her focus.

She didn't have much time. She needed to cause a distraction, get the people away from it and the guards out of the way. She only needed a minute but she could tell by the way the number of guards that stood along the wall was three times what it was in all the other rooms that a minute would be hard to come by.

She had _seconds_.

Polly walked along the edge of the round room, pretending to read placards as she thought up a plan. She'd chosen sleep over plotting last night and was kicking herself for both the decision and for allowing herself to become so set in human cycles that she could barely hone in on the nefariousness that should have been instinctual. At one point in her life, she would have killed everyone in this museum and skipped out, waving the scepter in the air and she would have thought twice.

She would have been doing what she felt necessary and that would have been the end of that.

Now, she was worried about the stupid children playing near the scepter and how the parents would feel to lose them. She was taking into account the number of people she'd be killing if she decided to be reckless. She was thinking like a human. A sympathetic one at that. _Ugh_.

She'd made her way around half the room before she spotted it. A large, rusty bronze gong in the back of the room and a tiny statue of an angel sitting nearby. It was almost poetic. She gripped the straps of her backpack as she turned and slowly approached the scepter. Meanwhile, her right index finger was crooked and the statue along the back wall was moving, inch-by-inch, closer to the gong. The closest guard had his back turned to it, too busy watching a few children who were playing too close to a piece across the room to notice what she was doing, too preoccupied to catch the less than human display happening right in front of him. When Polly felt the angel was close enough, she stopped at the scepter and took a deep breath.

The timing had to be perfect. She just needed people to look away. The scepter would come to her easily, she just needed to draw the eyes away. Her plan was simple enough. Tip the statue over until it hit the gong with a loud crash, no doubt attracting everyone's attention and allowing her the chance to press a hand against the glass case and call to the object she knew would recognize and come to her like it always did. Then she could tuck the staff in her jacket and quietly – quickly— walk out of the museum.

In reality, things went even better than that. When the statue hit the gong, a strong clash echoed off the walls much louder than Polly expected, loud enough to frighten the guard next to it so much that he drew his gun and started firing. Screams erupted all around; people running, guards rushing all over the place. It was chaos.

Polly froze for a second, a big 'oops' written on her face before she remembered what she was doing and quickly reached out, touched the glass with her fingertips and felt the familiar hum as the scepter recognized her.

It was a sweet kind of energy. Pure white and blissful, warm like sunshine and solace. It was just like she remembered. She felt drunk just being this close.

The crowd started to thin in the room and she followed the rush, moving out with the throngs, her hand open at her side as she walked, beckoning; fingers cupped to the perfect size to accommodate what she knew would soon be held between them.

She'd nearly made it to the exit before she felt it. Hard and cold and ridged in her hand. She tucked it into her jacket before anyone could notice and quietly made her way out, a smirk playing on her lips. She was at least a block away before she heard the alarm go off.

High on her success, she spent two days in Morrocco in something infinitely better than any motel in Monson and ate food that for once didn't come out of a cardboard box. It'd been a while since she stayed outside North America.

Then, that unpleasant feeling came. Like she was being watched. Like she'd been found. That familiar paranoia that kept her hopping from cheap motel to cheap motel because anyone who used to know her likely knew that she was used to a lavish life and wouldn't find comfort in a modest one easily.

So, it was back to the plan. Back to Monson. Back to motels.

Except she knew now that they probably suspected more than ever that she was alive. There are few ways someone could have taken the scepter without even lifting the glass. Only a handful of people – less than that, actually—had the power to call the scepter as she did. One of them way the big man himself, but he was M.I.A. and couldn't care less anyway.

The others were high level angels and demons, most of whom she heard had been killed by the Winchesters long ago. It only made sense to suspect her. She knew she'd have to run faster and hide better now. She found solace in knowing that if they found her, she had a weapon now.

Her first day in Monson, she stopped at a diner on the way to the motel and ordered a slice of pie. If we're perfectly honest, she was feeling cocky and therefore, was stupid. But it _was_ the best damn apple pie she'd ever had. It was a tiny, hole in the wall of a diner. Bright blue on the inside with white booths and tarnished counters, but it smelled amazing. Like sugar and bacon and coffee.

Monson is a city of 8,000 people and only 7 customers were in the diner that night but apparently it was enough to be trouble. At least they'd let her finish the pie.

She was in the parking lot when she heard the footsteps behind her. The pavement was wet from the previous night's rain and it was nearly pitch black out, except for the bright blue and pink sign illuminating the words 'Donna's Dip' that hung over the small building.

She turned sharply, unable to hide the smile growing on her face as she took in the sight of the four men standing in front of her. She recognized them as the small group who'd been sitting huddled in the back of the diner. Dressed in day clothes and looking disheveled. They were all pale. Like they were sick.

"Evening, gentlemen," she greeted, sensing trouble and feeding off it. "Red pill or blue?" And they kept coming at her til they were feet apart, leering at the way her pants clung to her skin. " _Christo_ ," she spoke and their eyes flicked black one by one. She grinned openly, riding the wave of confidence the weapon tucked in her jacket gave. "Ooh, red."

"Boss says you have something he needs," one explained, looking at Polly lecherously, popping his knuckles. He was bald and thick, the 'oldest' of the group. They were all mismatched. One gangly boy who couldn't have been more than twenty, a man with shaggy blonde hair tied at the neck and one tall, burly one with tan skin and a soft beard. Demons suck at choosing vessels. "What are you anyway?" he paused to ask.

"Don't you know it's impolite to ask a lady her species?" And she drew the scepter from her jacket and thumbed the largest purple jewel on the scepter's edge. From the end shot out one sharp tip like the head of a spear. It was embedded in a deep purple crystal and just barely peaked out. But the scepter didn't stop growing. It uncurled as if awaking from a deep sleep. Two golden rods shot out of each side, surrounding the crystal like the prongs of a pitchfork. And the scepter grew longer until it was a three-foot rod, bright and thick with glittering amethyst gems and silver detailing all along the staff. Grew longer until it finally looked as it should, like a thing of great and immense power.

The men stopped, looked at each other, looked at the staff, looked at Polly and before they could take more than a step her direction, she swung once. One good horizontal slash across their chests and they lit up. Faces shining, skeletons visible through their skin as a bright light took them over, a scratchy, zapping sound ringing through the lot.

Their eyes burned, like a laser started somewhere deep inside and shined a beacon through their pupils, black rings forming around the sockets as the heat took over them. And then they all fell. One loud thump as they landed on the pavement, thin, spiny lines burned into the ground connected their corpses like bolts of lightning or branches on a tree.

"That felt good," she breathed as she stood over the bodies.

She should have just stayed in her motel room after that fiasco. Even better, she probably should have left town. She killed the few who had seen her but there were more, and she had proof now that people suspected she was alive.

Instead, though, she slept through the night and then went back the next day for more pie. Confidence was a dangerous thing.

Because if she hadn't gone back for that pie, she'd never have found herself here, standing in that same lot again two days later. Only this time, instead of four lecherous demons, there were three men; two human, one angel, who were a hell of a lot more trouble.

The Winchesters had found her.

 **A/N: A bit of thievery and some light butt kicking. The usual. I can't wait for these guys to meet! Soon…thanks for reading! And sorry about the chapter glitch earlier if anyone caught that. - Gen**


	4. Incite

_1 day earlier…_

"Sorry, gentlemen, this is a closed scene," the officer said, holding a hand to both Sam and Dean's chest to prevent them from crossing the barricade of yellow tape. There was a small crowd around, trying to peer past the officers and see what Sam and Dean knew were bodies. There were squad cars and police all around but enough gaps to make the gasps and shocked faces reasonable reactions.

"Pettigrew and Potter, FBI," Dean explained as he and Sam flashed fake badges to the man who nodded and immediately moved aside. Dean smiled and patted his shoulder in thanks.

"Keep an eye out for hex bags," Sam cautioned as they approached the bodies, the burnt symbol on the pavement a clear sign they were headed the right way. He bent down and ran his fingers over it. The symbol was carved out, the road dipping where the mark was. "It's like somebody etched it into the pavement. Think someone took the time?"

"I have no idea," Dean said, looking over it all, tilting his head to try and view it from a different angle. "Come on."

They walked over to the four body bags laid out in a row. "You Feds?" an officer asked as they got close, eyeing their black trench coats and suits and ties warily.

"FBI," Dean said with an air of dismissal. Sure, it was a fake position of superiority but it was superiority, nonetheless. "Get me updated." Dean pointed to the bodies and then gave the man a sharp look.

"R-right, sorry," the man stuttered. He cleared his throat. "Well, they were found around two this morning when the owner was locking up. Said they'd came in a few times this week but they aren't locals. We're waiting for blood tests to come back from the lab to I.D. them."

"Any suspects?" Sam asked and the officer noticed and appreciated that his tone was softer than Dean's.

"Yes and no. There are no solid leads, no real evidence. But, the owner, Donna, says she saw them follow a woman out. Tall, brunette, tan. Said she was wearing an all leather outfit."

"You think one woman could do all this?" Dean asked. "What am I in Kill Bill or something? Am I right?" he laughed, looking to Sam who shook his head once and then to the officer whose face was still half-scared. "Alright, beat it," Dean said with a clear of his throat and the man almost ran away.

"Think it was a demon?" Sam wondered, squatting down to unzip a body bag.

"Demon's do like their leather," Dean acquiesced. "But I don't know, so do angels these days."

"Oh my god," Sam said, pulling down the collar on the first man to examine his neck. "Look at this." Dean knelt next to him and leaned in to see a small scar in the shape of an 'M' on the man's neck. It was faded like it was old but red, raised and bruised like it hadn't healed properly.

"An M?" Dean mumbled, unzipping the next bag. "This one has an 'N'." Sam leaned over to see the puckered scar across the man's throat.

"Unzip the next one," he instructed, brows drawn together like he was onto something. Dean obeyed. He had to push shaggy blond hair out of the way to reveal the wound.

"This one says…" Dean turned his head. "It's the number 69." He bit back a laugh.

Sam's eyes roamed over the three men, moving rapidly as his mind worked. _This seems so familiar,_ he thought. Then his eyes widened and he stood quickly, moving around Dean.

"That's not a 69, that's the symbol for Cancer," he explained. He pointed to the first man, "That's Scorpio," then the second, "That's Capricorn." He moved to the last bag and unzipped, shoving aside a high-collared jacket to reveal an arrow shape with a line through it at the middle. "And this is the Sagittarius sign. They're zodiac signs."

"Zodiac signs?" Dean turned over the thought. "What, do we have a demon serial killer on our hands?"

"I don't think so. Let's head back to the hotel, I think I have an idea."

"You think they'll let us in the diner for a burger?"

 **-tlt-**

"Found it! I knew it sounded familiar," Sam said as he turned his laptop in Dean and Cas' direction. Cas had arrived at the motel shortly after they did yesterday and sat with Dean, being filled in on what they learned while Sam did research on the computer late in the night. He'd been looking for a specific article and had just found it. The two men walked over and leaned over either of Sam's shoulders to view his screen.

"Roger Lacombe," he recited. "He's a serial killer from Maine. Killed 16 people across 4 states including in the southwest area of Massachusetts."

"Seems to fit," Dean observed.

"But, get this: he was killed by police last year. His final crime was in Vermont where he murdered six men. His signature was to carve their zodiac sign into their throats. The police offed him while was in the middle of finishing up a victim in the bathroom of a bar."

"Damn."

"The men in the parking lot must have been possessed," Cas deduced, his voice gruff. "You said their wounds were old."

"Exactly," Sam said. "They hadn't healed because the men were already dead. And I found an article about no less than ten bodies gone missing from a morgue in St. Albans, Vermont recently."

"Why would demons go after dead meatsuits? Aren't they usually picky about their vessels?" Dean asked.

"Not if they're in a hurry," Cas clarified. The brothers shared a look at their best friend's words.

"Alright," Dean said, moving away and taking a swig from a half empty beer bottle near the bed. "So, we've got demons recycling meatsuits, trying to steal an old stick and a mark that none of us can identify?" He looked around at everyone, waiting for an objection. Cas looked off and Sam gave a shrug. "Right. So, we have no leads," he sat on the corner of a bed near Cas.

"We could go back to the lot, look around for more clues," Sam suggested. "Before we head back home. Just to make sure we haven't missed anything," he added.

"Yea," Dean agreed. "Yea, sure. Plus, I'm getting my burger this time. And maybe some pie."

 **-tlt-**

The three boys slid out of Dean's black '67 Chevy Impala, closing the doors behind them. He'd inherited the car from his father and considered it one of –nope, it was his _single_ most prized possession. He'd even named it; Baby.

The sun had started to go down in the sky and was casting a warm, orange glow over everything. The tape and body bags had been removed and the lot was wet like it'd recently been hosed down. The sign above the diner blinked violently and then snapped off just as the boys reached it.

"No, no, no. Come on!" Dean yelled. "Son of a bitch, they're closed."

"The lights are still on inside," Cas pointed out.

"True," Dean grinned. "Come on-"

"Wait, wait, look!" Sam whispered, grabbing his brother's arm. Cas squinted, following his eyeline til his eyes landed on a black figure exiting the diner and headed their way, a white box in hand. "You see what I see?"

And they all three watched her approach. She didn't see them, not at first, but they sure saw her. Black leather head-to-toe, hair falling in loose dark waves around her shoulders, an attitude in the way she walked, like she didn't want anyone to bother her but was ready to _handle_ you if you did. _Badass_ , Dean thought before his brain caught up with him.

"An all leather outfit," he said, repeating the officer's words from earlier. The girl the men had followed out.

She looked their way, finally, and her mouth twitched, eyes checking them. They moved towards each other like they were old friends meeting up. The boys watched as she stopped at the edge of the lot and waited for them to close the distance. A powerplay that simultaneously infuriated and impressed Dean. If we're being honest, I think he just really liked the leather pants.

Sam was wary, hanging back a bit behind his big brother as it was instinctual for him to do. He wasn't scared but he was hyperaware of the thought that there was a chance she'd taken out four demons on her own and with enough skill to be neat about it. There was hardly any blood on the ground.

Cas was just curious. His eyes were narrowed, taking her in. He didn't realize it but he was searching for the black, rotting skeleton that he was usually able to see in a demon or the wings of an angel that normally revealed themselves to him. But he saw neither. She looked human and yet…not. There was a long shadow following behind her. Not like one you'd expect but a different one cast the opposite way it should be in the light. Like she wasn't one person walking but two. As if she weren't alone.

The boys closed the gap between them, taking a mental inventory of where all the weapons were currently hidden on their bodies. Dean opened his mouth to speak first but Polly beat him to it, a smile playing on her lips and a bit of fascination in her eyes.

" _Boys_ ," she smirked.

 **-TLT-**

 **A/N: This chapter is one of my favorites. I like the way the case is unfolding. Thanks for the alerts, follows and favorites! Drop a review and guess what the Winchesters are hunting. And what the hell is Polly?**


	5. Extension

"Well," Polly started. "Two giant people," she looked between Sam and Dean before her eyes landed on Cas, "and a reasonably sized man..." Her eyes lingered on Cas a bit longer than the others. "The Winchesters," she said, unable to keep the hint of reverence from her voice.

So these are the men she'd been told to fear. _This_ was them?

Her eyes travelled from right to left, first finding Sam. He was…tall. That was likely the first thing anyone would notice about him. He towered over the other two but they were no slouches either, each having several inches over Polly who celebrated the five-feet-seven-inches of her frame. Sam's hair was chin length, lush and tucked behind his ears, his eyes calculating and wide. They were all male model material but he had a boy-next-door sweetness to his face that she liked.

Next was Dean, stood in the middle looking very unimpressed and wary, hands in his pockets like she was wasting his time already. He looked weary, tired, like he hadn't slept well for a long time. His eyes were sour apple green, lashes long, lips full, hair cut short and lazily styled. The kind of handsome that made even women jealous.

And last, Castiel, who tipped Polly off as to who they were. She saw his wings, wide and frayed, splayed out behind him, naked to the human eye. Luckily, that wasn't her case. He was wearing a trench coat, which was contrary to the red and green plaid Dean and Sam were wearing respectively beneath their brown jackets; it made him stand out beside the other two. As did his deep blue eyes, a stark contrast to the jet black of his hair which sat messily, sexily, atop his head. He picked a good vessel.

Polly smirked, liking what she saw. No one ever said how gorgeous they were.

"I gotta be honest," she went on. "I didn't think I'd meet you guys until a _little_ further down the line but," she stopped, smiled sweetly, "It's always nice to meet a fan."

"Who are you?" Dean barked, hand already moving toward the angel blade in his pocket, one of the few weapons that could kill a demon – and an angel as well.

"Who am I?" she repeated, a laugh escaping her. _They_ didn't know? "I guess Sam's slacking on the research. He does the research, right?" she asked, a bit patronizingly. "You look like you're more the muscle-guy." Dean's eyes narrowed as she spoke, gesticulating with her hands. "Sam's the good cop, you're the bad cop, Castiel is just the…eye candy." And this time she openly ogled the angel, relishing the way his face went pink and he glanced away and then back, trying to look defiant but obviously flustered, like he didn't understand how to process compliments.

"Maybe you didn't hear me, I asked who you were," Dean tried again, zero patience in his voice.

" _I_ am on your side. Trust me, I'm not who you should be after." She took a step back as if about to leave. The boys followed the movement.

"I think we'll be the judge of that, so I'll try one more time. Who. Are. You?"

"A friend." She liked how angry he was getting, made the cute crinkles by his eyes stand out.

" _Christo_ ," Castiel called out suddenly. Polly almost smiled. The other boys straightened up, catching on to what Castiel was suggesting. They waited. Nothing happened.

Polly waited until their shoulders relaxed some and then blinked, their faces revealing that they saw her eyes become two pitch-black orbs, a trademark sign of demonism.

Dean drew his blade on sight and Polly, force of habit, kicked into self-defense mode and the scepter was in her hand before she could think to stop herself.

The boys zeroed in on it immediately, the shimmer it gave off drawing their eyes. "The scepter," Sam breathed. "That's it."

"How'd you get it?" Dean asked. "The goons you sent to get it failed miserably."

"What are you talking about?" Polly asked, eyebrows pulling together in confusion. Sam's face mirrored hers. _She didn't know?_

"The men who failed at stealing it the first time."

"They weren't with me. I took it so they couldn't. Trust me, you don't want this in the wrong hands," she weighed it in her palms.

"No offense but I don't really trust demons so, why don't you just hand it over-"

"She's not a demon," Cas interrupted, still looking at her confusedly. His rough voice captured her attention and she was watching him again, except this time he didn't look away. He looked like he was trying to unscramble her and now _she_ wanted to avert her eyes.

"Well, then what the hell is she, Cas?"

"I…I don't know." He looked sorry he didn't have a better answer.

"I already told you. I'm a friend. We're on the same side," Polly insisted.

"No friend of mine has black eyes."

"Or kills people," Sam started. "We saw what you did to those men-"

"Oh, you mean the dead men? The ones who were _already_ dead? If anything, I helped them. I killed the demons who were possessing them," she defended, offended by the way they were vilifying her. She'd noticed the scars after she'd slashed them and had gotten angry at how much comfort the knowledge that she wasn't the one to kill them gave her.

No one spoke for a bit, exchanging looks. Dean and Sam let the words soak in, unable to deny the truth in them.

"You don't have to trust me, fine," she began, her voice softer. "But please, don't look for me. _Please_." The boys all took note of her pleading. It wasn't typical for a demon to beg. Unless they were being tortured…

"Here," she took a step back towards the boys and held out the white, Styrofoam box in her hand to Dean. "A peace offering."

And then she was gone.

The boys hadn't blinked and yet they were now staring at nothing where Polly'd just been. She'd vanished into thin air. They were turning over possibilities in their heads. Only truly powerful demons were able to teleport like that.

But she wasn't all gone.

Her shadow lingered behind her on the ground for a few seconds, Castiel noticed, but soon it, too, disappeared.

"Damn it!" Dean said, looking around.

"What's in the box?" Sam asked and Dean directed his attention to the container he was holding. He put away his blade, pulled out his gun instead and slowly nudged the box open with the butt of it. All three of them jumped then leaned in.

It was a single slice of apple pie.

 **-tlt-**

 **A/N: They met! What are we thinking of Polly? Accepting her peace offering? Yay or nay? Next chap, some shit hits the fan…**


	6. Cataclysm

**Chapter 6: Cataclysm**

When people talk about the end of the world, there's always the same theme. The world not behaving as it's supposed to. Mother Nature being defiant to the patterns we've come to expect of her. Unignorable hints that the world as you know it is coming to a close.

But this time, there weren't any warnings.

It was a normal day. People all over the world were waking and falling asleep and smiling and crying and enjoying the horror and happiness of life.

Polly was stashed away in a rinky-dink hotel in Missouri, still buzzing from her time in Massachusetts. She'd been caught in a cycle of feeling grateful that she'd made it out alive and that no one had tried to knock down her door in the two days she'd been here, and feeling energized, reckless, and ready for another fight.

Years ago, she was callous and fearless and angry and reveled in the feel of a good fight, but she'd been starved of one for years upon years and the itch in her veins wasn't quelled by the small adrenaline burst she got from the two encounters.

She wanted more. She just didn't know if she could afford it.

On the one hand, she had the scepter, a well-maintained slew of fighting skills, and confidence, a fickle friend though it may be, which was still a powerful motivator.

On the other hand, the idea was just plain stupid.

There were still throngs of people after her. Demons who, though not on her level, could stand a chance at taking her out if their numbers were good enough or if they caught her off guard.

And the Winchesters. Well, what are the chances two of the most notoriously badass hunters would be kept off by a piece of pie?

It came down to a battle between her ego and her brain. Two long disconnected parts.

 **-tlt-**

"You feel that?" Sam whispered, looking to Dean. Dean paused, nodded once and reached for one of the iron pokers beside the fireplace, motioning for Sam to grab the other. They'd both felt the temperature drop in the room, a clear sign that the Spirit they were hunting was nearby.

It wasn't easy to go against a Spirit. They were weak to iron and salt but most of them lingered because of an earthly attachment. Whether it was unfinished business or a personal item preventing them from crossing over, they were unnaturally strong and could be nasty and Sam and Dean knew that. You could tell in the way they moved slowly around the room.

They'd slain vampires, killed werewolves and tussled with angels and demons alike but they always approached spirits with a bit more caution. Vamps and werewolves have goals, motives; Spirits were just angry, twisted souls who didn't know how that home was no longer a place on Earth.

"Where the hell is thi-" Dean got the wind knocked out of him before he could finish. A slack jawed, crazed looking woman was perched on top of him, pressing his shoulders into the ground as she straddled him. "A little help here," he grunted as she snapped at him, rotted teeth coming close to his jaw.

Sam swung the poker once at the woman and it traveled through her like she was a puff of smoke. She let out a scream and disappeared. Sam offered Dean a hand.

"No," Dean grunted, sitting up. "Just go find the salt." The woman appeared in the doorway, waiting, a wide smile on her blackened lips. "I've got a date."

Sam hesitated about leaving his brother only for a second before jumping to action. He ran to the kitchen, opening dusty cabinet after dusty cabinet looking for the salt. It was one of the only ways to get rid of a spirit – salt and burn the item binding them to Earth. The destruction of the item meant the Soul was free to move on. Of course, today's the day both _master hunters_ forgot to bring the salt.

"Hurry it up in there!" Sam heard Dean yell, followed by a series of grunts.

"I'm trying!" Sam yanked open a drawer and there it was. Salt. Except, of course, it wasn't in a convenient canister, but in the form of six individual packets. "Oh God." He grabbed a handful of packets, pulled the woman's pendant they'd found under a floorboard in the living room from his pocket and threw it in the rusted sink. He ripped open as many packets as he could, poured the salt on the pendant and then pulled out his lighter, flicking it on until the flame shined brightly, then tossing it into the sink.

The pendant lit up, a large fire rising like someone had set off a small bomb. It blackened and cracked under the heat. He rushed back to Dean in time to see the woman light up much the same, bright flames starting at her bottom and then angrily swallowing her up until she disappeared, back arching like she'd been snatched.

Dean lay on the floor, panting. The poker was resting on his throat, a red line across it like she'd been holding it there. He turned to look at Sam.

"I can't believe you forgot the frickin salt!"

 **-tlt-**

"Oh, it's _my_ fault?" Sam said later as they exited the deserted house, job finished. "Like you couldn't have brought some yourself?"

"Whatever. Get in the car," Dean retorted.

The thing about the Winchesters that most of their enemies didn't know is that they were winging it. Were they gifted, rightfully feared, powerful hunters? Yes. But they came by it honestly and lucked into as many victories as they earned. There was no huge planning, no real strategy and most of the time they approached battles with zero hope that things would go their way.

It was their intellect, skill and the backpay of luck that the universe owed them that kept things in their favor. They'd been dealt some bad cards from birth, cards that left them scarred and broken to this day and though they'd argue the world took every punch at them it could, it was also true that they were a necessary part of the universe, two key players that the world, whether it wanted to admit it or not, needed.

They didn't want this life. This life kicked their ass a thousand times over. This life took their mother and their father and saddled them with a sense of duty two men who never got to be boys didn't deserve.

They didn't choose this life. But they did a damn good job dealing with the fact that it chose them.

"So, do you think we should follow up on the Massachusetts not-demon girl?" Dean asked as he drove. The open road was a familiar thing to the brothers. It was rare that they weren't on their way somewhere. The Spirit had left them in the west area of Nebraska so they were expecting a fairly short drive back home to Kansas.

"I don't know. I mean, it's unnerving that we —hell, _Cas_ doesn't even know what the hell she is. She seemed…I don't know," Sam paused, thinking over the way she drew the scepter when Dean turned the knife on her, like it was a reflex rather than an urge. "Desperate."

"Desperate? She sliced through four men then came back for pie the next day. Yea, I'd say that's pretty desperate," Dean scoffed.

Sam didn't respond. He had a bad reputation of giving the benefit of the doubt, unlike his brother, and didn't think the faint picture he had in his head of the girl possibly being in danger would go over well.

"We don't have anything to summon her with, anyway," he compromised.

"What about the symbol left behind at the crime scene?"

Sam and Dean both jumped, the car swerving a little as Cas appeared in the back seat, eyes narrowed as if he didn't understand their reactions.

"Dammit, Cas, you gotta warn us before you just pop up like that!" Dean admonished, straightening the car.

"Apologies," was all Cas said. He'd been on Earth long enough but his 'people skills' were still a bit rusty.

"That could work," Dean agreed, brows still drawn tight from the interruption.

"What if the symbol isn't hers? I mean and what spell would we use? We don't know what we're trying to summon," Sam pointed out.

"Do you think we should wait until she does something else?" Castiel asked.

"We won't have to wait that long," Dean said, suddenly slowing the car down, all three leaning forward to peer out of the front window, their eyes widening at what they saw.

There weren't any warnings.

Warnings are what you get before it all goes down. Evidence is all that's left behind.

There was evidence that the world had lost order.

On either side of the road were sparse trees, skinny and balding, all curled toward the center of the street like they were signaling.

And a row of cars, deserted, doors open like the drivers had made spur of the moment decisions to get out. And they were all stood, eyes wide, faces blank, looking in the direction of the boys. But their gazes went past them. Far, far out like they couldn't see anything but forever somewhere long in front of them.

And then they started walking.

Slowly, like they suddenly remembered how their feet worked.

The boys jumped out of the car then, running along the brown grass on either side to avoid the obstacle in the middle of the road.

A large hole in the center, going so deep down in the earth that looking into them gave you a view of absolute nothingness at the bottom. A black ditch of ambiguity.

The drivers were walking forward like they wanted to find out what was at the end.

"Hey! Hey! Snap out of it!" Dean yelled, working his way past the branches bent in his face, making it difficult to get to them from his side.

"Stop!" Sam roared as one man broke into a sprint, leaping over the edge and into the nothing. Sam lunged out, his hand brushing the man's sleeve as he dropped, down, down, down into the earth. A sharp bump snapped his eyes away, his mind unable to stop the guilt loop that'd already started playing in his head. Two men and a woman ran into Sam's frame like they didn't see him there. He spread his arms wide and tried to push them back, but they were determined. Under their strength, Sam started to lose his footing, feet sliding closer to the abyss.

Dean saw and knew his brother well enough to know he needed to keep him from going over. He trusted him to be smart but knew well enough his desire to save people and sacrificial nature. Sometimes he was too much for his own good.

"Sam!"

Sam didn't stop to look at his brother, just pushed harder against the three. Castiel appeared in front of Sam and touched two fingers to the temple of the two men and they fell limp against Sam's body.

Castiel gripped the collar of Sam's shirt to steady him, pressed two digits to the woman's head and then pulled Sam out of the way. Behind Cas was a trail of six bodies, all collapsed and unconscious by Cas's touch.

The brother's exchanged a look, fleeting but loaded with concern, chastising and frustration and then directed their attention to the holes. Each in the shape of the symbol that'd been left behind in the parking lot.

The three boys shared another look, knowing what they had to do. They had to find Polly.

 **-tlt-**

 **A/N: What. Is. Happening? Please let me know what you thought of the chapter! I miss Polly…**


	7. Assembly

Polly had the undercover living thing down pat. Motel for no more than three weeks – two is preferable; book the room under a different name in each place, pay in advance and with cash, never stay in a busy city unless you have to, if you're going to order food, do it once and in bulk to limit the number of delivery men who see your face. You never know what a demon is up to these days.

And lastly, finally, if you're going to go out, be prepared to fight.

The buzz from the fight had died down and Polly'd reluctantly resigned herself to being lowkey and continuing on the way she had for years: safe and boring and _alive_.

Another four days had passed and she was back to the routine of heated pizza and watching whatever local TV the current place had. At least this one got more than the weather channel. She'd watched the same black and white sit-com every night since she'd been here and was unashamedly hooked. A silly show about a man who'd unknowingly married a witch and all the 60's hilarity that came from it.

The man'd just been turned into an elephant, Polly mid-laugh at the thought that any real witch would waste their time doing such a thing, when it happened.

Four sharp hits to her room door.

She was on her feet in a second, scepter in hand, ready to fight. Her finger found the jewel and the scepter opened, spear and prongs appearing, all sharp edges and shimmering points. She raised it over her head and waited.

The door flew open, swinging back to crash into the wall as five thick bodies rushed into the room; mismatched and red faced, stomping towards her. Demons.

She swung once, straight down sharply towards one man's head but he caught it, gripping the scepter by the middle. Polly snatched it back in a movement so sharp that it tore from the man's hand, prongs slicing his palm as he held tight. He jerked back then started forward again only to catch a kick in the chest that sent him flying into the wall.

The others flanked her, taking advantage of the close quarters to close in on her. She took one swipe across the torsos of the two on her right and they lit up, light bleeding from them at the wound as they screamed at the sky.

A hard blow landed to Polly's stomach and she grunted against the pain, quickly turning to evade another hit as she spun and then drove the hilt of the scepter through a female demon's gut, pushing hard until she felt it travel through the bone and flesh, not stopping even when the woman lit up. She kept pushing until she came in contact with the body of the man she'd kicked against the wall and she impaled him, too, the scepter sliding through them like a knife through thick molasses.

She gritted her teeth and didn't stop going until she heard the faint thump of the scepter against the wall, holding their two lifeless bodies together, gold prongs and a purple jewel peaking out the front like a sick ornament.

Winded, she turned on the last demon. A tall man, hair high and jaw square stalked towards her, his fist swinging swiftly. She caught it, gripped it in her own and threw a solid punch at his chin. It hit but didn't keep him off for long as he shot a long leg out to kick Polly in the chest so hard she had to grip the bed to stay up.

He smiled a slow, taunting smile and advanced on her as she caught her breath and pushed off the sheets to regain her ground, her eyes angry, black slits.

She spun and kicked a leg out high and he caught her by the ankle, thinking he'd won, when she suddenly bent her leg, foot hooking behind his head and pulling hard til he stumbled forward and fell to the floor. She pulled a knife from her boot, drove it into his back and left it there until the last of the bright light had filtered out of his body.

"Fuck," she panted, taking the knife and wiping it clean on the sheet. She stepped over the demon's body to grab the scepter, one hand on each prong as she pulled, her foot on the woman's body for leverage to make withdrawal easier. It slid out, wet and red and warm and she paused to look at it. Then at the bodies around her, a sick feeling nagging at the back of her mind. She knelt and pulled the neckline of the woman's shirt down as she uncurled on the floor. No marks, no slashes, nothing but smooth, dark skin.

The vessel had been alive.

Polly stood, squared her shoulders and took in a deep breath, closing her eyes. She opened them and jumped to action, grabbing her bag to take off. If they found her, it wouldn't be long til more came.

She'd just slipped her jacket on over the white tank she was wearing when she felt a tugging. She felt unsteady like she could fall at any moment. As if she were on a boat that wouldn't stop rocking. Nauseous, she closed her eyes.

"Dean!" she heard and her eyes flew open and grew wide as she took in her surroundings. Rather than a crime scene of a cramped room, she was stood in the middle of a large abandoned warehouse. The floor was battered grey concrete, iron beams coming down all around. It was a big, empty room, nothing but an old metal sheet on the ground in the center and three men standing next to it.

"Fuck," she said again, this time under her breath as she saw the Winchesters. "Hey, boys," she spoke up, planting a smirk on her face to hide the displeasure she was feeling. _Of all the times,_ now?

"The guest of honor has finally arrived," Dean remarked as they approached her, weapons openly in hand. She recognized Dean's weapon immediately because it matched the one she carried. A demon-killing knife. Sam held a gun and Castiel had in his hand a blade so pristinely silver, its shine was almost blinding. An angel-blade.

It could kill angels and demons alike.

"I see you laid out a whole spread for me," Polly smiled, taking in the small wooden bowls, residues of powders, open books and bottles that lay around the metal sheet. Her eyes landed on a piece of chalk and she looked down finally to see the circles surrounding her. Three rings of sigils, one after the other. A devil's trap, an angel's trap and one ring that was outlined with nothing but the scepter's symbol over and over again.

Dean's face grew smug, he threw something at her feet and three rings of fire lit around her, caging her in with a wall of flame.

Her eyes narrowed. "All this for me?" He shrugged once, still proud. "How'd you find me?"

"We summoned you. We tried every summoning spell in the book first: demon, angel, archangel…" Dean listed.

"Then Cas suggested we try and use the symbol from the scepter as part of the summoning and here you are," Sam finished. His jaw was tight, his face harsh but his eyes were travelling over her like he was looking for something. Something like the desperation he'd seen in her before.

"Tell us what the symbol means," Cas started.

"And who the hell you are," Dean added. Polly rolled her eyes. She'd been sure they'd figured it out by now or at least have some idea. They'd spent so much time staring at the symbol, apparently.

"Have you not looked at the marking? Sure, I'm supposed to be dead but did they erase my existence completely?" She stopped short. _Had_ they erased her completely? The thought hurt more than she liked.

"It's a diamond," Sam said looking at the shape half-hidden by the flames. A four-sided shape, what looked to be a diamond, half open on the left with a sharp, straight line where the fourth side should be and a slash across the right edge of it all.

Polly couldn't stop the scoff that came from her mouth, offended. She drew her knife and the boys took a step forward. She ignored them, waved a hand around her and the fire went out at once. She didn't stop to see the shocked looks on the boys' faces but knelt and started working the knife against the floor.

"It's an A, as in _Apollyon_. As in _me_." And she carved out the symbol and it was suddenly apparent that it was not a broken diamond but an A, turned on its side and decorated with adjacent sharp lines.

" _Apollyon_?" Dean repeated, turning the word over in his head. It sounded familiar.

"Apollyon," Sam echoed. " _'The Destroyer_ '. It-it's the Greek name for…Abaddon," he stood up straighter, eyes widening with the realization.

Dean caught his brother's mood, suddenly gripping his blade tighter. "You can't be Abaddon."

"Ugh, I'm not. Trust me. Completely different, actually. Just one more thing your texts have gotten wrong. Honestly, you humans just write whatever you want, it's—wait," Apollyon paused, eyes bouncing between the two boys. "What do you mean I can't be Abaddon? You've met Abaddon? And you're still living? Abby must've gotten soft." She laughed, crossing her arms. _Abaddon always was a pain in the ass but it could be nice to have someone around who's on a similar playing field,_ Apollyon thought to herself.

"Yea, we knew her," Dean said and now he was fully wielding the blade, nudging Sam who had yet to raise his gun. Sam looked reluctant, watching Apollyon like she was a wild animal who he might be able to bargain with, but he put a finger on the trigger all the same. Cas gripped his blade tighter, waiting.

"Knew?" And all the things were suddenly clicking into place in her head but she wasn't accepting it easily. How could she not have heard about this? Sure, she wasn't exactly subscribed to Demons Daily but you'd think she'd have heard a murmur about Abaddon dying.

Was she really so removed from it all? What else had she missed?

And, more importantly-

" _You_ _killed Abaddon_? You two," she began in disbelief. "…lumberjacks?"

"Drove a knife right through her," Dean admitted. Apollyon's eyes narrowed as she took in his smug face. She never had any intention of harming the Winchesters but there was something about him and the way he looked at her, like she was garbage he could take out easily ten times over.

She glanced at her feet then back at Dean who followed her gaze but looked unbothered, confident at least one of the wards would hold her back. Apollyon saw the faith in his eyes and took a step forward, and where any demon should have been slammed back by some invisible force holding them inside the circle, Apollyon kept going. She met the angel warding and kept walking, watching the growing looks of surprise on the boys' faces. She stopped at the last edge, her symbol marked over and over again with black chalk. She moved forward and crossed it, too.

Dean swung at her and she blocked his arm, grabbing him by the throat. Sam raised the gun, face suddenly contorted with pure malice at the threat to his brother but Cas stepped in front of the barrel. Apollyon's grip wasn't very tight at all on Dean and so Cas easily moved him aside as stepped forward.

He pressed an open palm to Apollyon's forehead and she started to curl in on herself immediately. A hissing sound, much like the kind you'd hear as you burned something soft in a fire started up. Beams of bright purple light could be seen escaping the sides of his hand as he pressed her down to her knees before him, her grunts and cries a clear sign she was in pain.

She smacked his hand away, glaring up at him, the red outline of a handprint slowly fading away on her forehead. "Did you just try to smite me?" she coughed out, legs feeling too unsteady to get her to her feet.

"It should have killed you," he spoke and Polly'd yet to hear his voice be anything but soft and questioning. He always seemed to be watching, listening.

"Guess I'm special," she sneered, head still swimming a bit but she felt the feeling start to come back to her limbs.

Sam and Dean came to flank Castiel, weapons raised and pointed straight at her, all patience gone. "So, are you gonna tell us what you are or are we going to kill you with the mystery still intact?" Dean asked, face somehow even harsher than before.

"I'll take option B," Polly challenged. "But surely you boys didn't do all this work finding me just to kill me?" She raised a brow and watched Sam's jaw clench. She was right.

"We want to know what your big plan is. Where does the pit go?" Sam asked.

Apollyon's brows drew together. "What are you talking about? What _pit_?"

"The pit! The pit shaped like _your_ symbol that people are throwing themselves into! Don't play dumb." Dean scoffed and his brother caught him by the shoulder.

" _Dean_ ," was all he said and Dean paused and followed his gaze to look at Apollyon. And it was the first time Dean really _looked_ at her as anything more than a threat, anything more than a demon that needed to be exterminated. And for one brief second, he saw in her eyes the desperation and spark of fear his brother saw. It was fleeting and she hid it as quickly as she showed it but Dean caught it.

"You don't know?" he asked, voice still rough. "It's not you?"

"It's not me."

No one spoke for a beat. No one lowered their weapons. No one moved.

"I need to go," Apollyon said suddenly and she rose to her feet.

"You're not going anywhere. Tell us what the hell is going on," Dean demanded.

"What's going on is big shit. Shit I need to handle! And I can't do that with you three bumbling behind me. _Stay out of my way_!" Apollyon snapped and it was the first time she'd yelled at them. They all three felt the power coming off her, a big, angry cloud of something that felt bitter and heavy. It lingered behind her even after she'd disappeared again, gone before anyone could move to stop her.

The only evidence she'd ever been there was the knife she left behind on the floor.

 **A/N: The big reveal! We got a full name finally! Cas is a man of few words but a complete bad ass when need be. Next chap, we reveal even more secrets…Thanks for reading!**


	8. Revelation

The rain was pelting down hard. It was close to midnight and the streets were quiet, the world was quiet except for the loud claps of thunder that rang out every now and then. It was the kind of night that meant trouble and the sounds of rapid footsteps meant that someone had found it.

Polly's hair stuck to her face in thick, wet clumps as she ran, strands blocking her vision as she tried to navigate down the cluttered alley. She turned a corner sharply as she attempted to evade the sprinting bodies behind her. She could hear them gaining on her, tracking her every move.

She hadn't gotten much of a look at them at the bus station before she took off. There were at least a dozen and her scepter and gun were in her bag, she knew she didn't have time to get them out before they'd have gotten a hold on her so she did the next best thing and took off. The rain was falling much too hard for flying to be a viable option so she was bound to the ground, lungs begging her to stop but feet knowing they had to go on.

She'd at least be able to take a few of them out if she hadn't left her stupid knife behind with the Winchesters.

Wait. _The knife_.

Apollyon summoned something deep within her, picked up speed and ducked around another corner, then another and another until the steps behind her were as faint as they'd ever been. She found herself in a slightly hidden trash area, her back pressed against a brick wall. If they came this way and peeked in past the chain fence to her right, she'd be seen immediately. She had to do this quickly.

She closed her eyes tight and forced air into her lungs. Her mind was too busy, she needed to calm down to focus on the hum she knew was already calling to her.

She was bombarded by heat. She could feel the power radiating off magical objects all over the town but she just needed to find that _one_. Needed to sift through the sweetness and bitterness and warmth from hex bags and artifacts, enchanted gems and cursed obj-

 _There_.

It was faint but it stood out. Behind her lids, she could almost see the familiar lavender glow of it, reaching a hand out to her. She homed in on it until the hum was like a tracker, leading her to where she needed to be.

The sound of steps grew loud and the clink of the fence being snatched open made her jump. Four men shoved their heads in, wide, evil smiles on their faces that quickly faded when they saw that no prey was pressed against the wall. The area was empty.

50 feet away, Apollyon sprinted down the road, feet sinking into mud with every step she took. It splashed all over her but she kept going, taking as many backroads as she could until she arrived in front of a heavy iron door. It was rusted, old and looked abandoned, connected to a tall, thick building that looked like it hadn't been touched for years. It wasn't a house. No one would ever try to live here but she knew she had the right place because of the black Impala parked outside.

She started banging on the door with her fists, mud smudges covering it as the rain continued to come down and drown everything. She stood pounding on the door for a good two minutes before she heard things start clicking on the other side.

The door creaked open to reveal three confused men and one gun pointed straight at Polly's face. She held back an eye roll at Dean and instead found Sam's eyes.

"I need your help."

 **-tlt-**

"Thank you," Polly said as she took a proffered towel from Sam and wiped at her face. She shook off her heavy, filthy jacket and tossed it on the floor. She tucked her backpack under her arm and took a seat on the corner of one of the oak tables in the wide room she assumed was a library. The walls were filled with bookshelves and texts with old looking spines, columns coming down around the room.

The whole place surprised her from the second they begrudgingly moved aside to let her in. From the outside, it was dingy and severely unimpressive but inside it was all wood walls and dark oak, pristine and elegant. It looked secure and yet practical and now, contrary to her previous thoughts, she could see how someone would call it home.

She wrung her hair out into the towel then slung it around her shoulders to keep out some of the chill she was getting from sitting, damp, in nothing but a white tank top and some leather pants that were, at this point, practically attached to her skin.

"What happened to 'stay out of my way'? You know, the whole scary power yell? You remember, right, Sam?" Dean quipped, turning to his brother. Sam ignored him and stepped forward.

"Why are you here? Did you learn something about what's been happening?"

"No," Polly said. "I was being chased and-"

"So, you're here for you?" Dean laughed. "Demons," he mumbled.

Polly's nostrils flared in annoyance. "I get it, ok? You hate demons, got it. You're the tough one, it's established. Can I speak?" she barked. Dean opened his mouth but stopped when Sam held up a hand.

"Thank you," Polly said quietly before continuing. "I was being chased by a group of demons, at least a dozen. I needed somewhere to go. The bus was late and you summoned me into a town with a population of 200 people, seriously?" she asked. "I was weak after the attempted smiting," she shot a look at Cas who was leaned against a table, blade in hand. "My powers were weak, I couldn't fly-"

"You fly?" Sam asked and looked to Cas whose eyes were narrowed in confusion. "I've never heard of a demon that flew," he went on. "Only angels."

"I think it's time you answered our question once and for all," Dean said. "What the hell are you?"

Polly looked to Sam but, for once, he was silent, standing beside his brother with the same hard look. She pursed her lips. "I'm a demon." No one looked convinced. She continued, "and an angel."

Everyone's faces contorted in confusion. "H-how can you be both?" Sam asked finally. "Angels and demons have never- would never-"

"I wasn't born," Polly went on. She sighed and paused, thinking about how crazy things were getting. Demons were coming by the dozen now and she felt it wouldn't be long until she was in over her head. She blew out a breath and accepted the idea that maybe she needed the Winchesters' help for a bit more than just shelter. If there was anyone that could help, it was them and if there was anyone she should try to trust, it was someone who could help.

"I was created," she finished.

 **-tlt-**

 **A/N: *dun dun dunnnn* Are the Winchesters getting a new housemate or are we offing Polly in her sleep? I'm sorry this took so long, I'm gonna be honest with you all and admit I got wrapped up in the Magicians fandom. Oops. If you're into that show, I have some fics up for it. Also, I'm more active on Archive of Our Own website! The next chapter for Ibidem should be up next week! Thanks for reading!**


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